


You Don’t Want to Wake the Dragon, Do You?

by Slut_4_Jagermeister



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Apparently this triggered some people so spoiler alert Jon is a hostage, Dark!Dany kinda, F/M, Jon still knows nothing for now, Jonerys, boatbaby, fook the lannisters, if you need pure uwu jonerys this won't be for you, mama dragon Dany you don’t want to fuck with, they have their crackhead s8 personalities so keep that in mind, we took something senseless and gave her a motive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 01:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slut_4_Jagermeister/pseuds/Slut_4_Jagermeister
Summary: Queen Daenerys will stop at nothing to protect her own after the losses her conquest has wrought
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 52
Kudos: 120





	You Don’t Want to Wake the Dragon, Do You?

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t know where I’m going with this lol but enjoy the ride and salt

When Jon entered the room, he was unsurprised to see Daenerys sat upon the Iron Throne. It was a beautiful sight if you ignored the destruction that surrounded her. A mixture of snow and ash was falling lightly from the open sky that made her pale skin seem to glow in contrast to her black dress. At the base of the throne was a small group of Unsullied standing at attention, to her right hand side was Grey Worm. The man was staring daggers at Jon as he approached. The Queen regarded him coolly as he reached the base of the stairs and knelt down. 

“I was hoping to have a word with you alone, Your Grace.” When she stood so did he. Daenerys spread her arms and gestured to the throne room.

“We are alone, my lord.” She replied, clasping her hands in front of her and cocking her head to one side in a mocking stare. _It’s to be like this, then. _“Are you here to confess your treason?” Jon took a step back, confused.

“Treason? What? Dany, no-” He stammered out. She cut him off. 

“You lost the right to call me that. I am the Queen and you will address me as such. I’m told you met with one of my prisoners without my leave.” Her voice was as cold as ice. 

“You mean  _ Tyrion? _ ” Jon took a step forward and was met with a wall of spears. “We need to talk about what happened out there. Have you seen? All the people you’ve killed? Do you even  _ care?! _ ” 

If she did, it didn’t show on her face. The dwarf’s words rang in the back of his head. With dismay, Jon wondered if Tyrion had been right about what needed to be done. It seemed unspeakable, unbelievable, and yet… there she stood high above him, higher above still a ruined city.  _ Does she sound like she’s going to stop?  _ Jon thought about his sisters, and how ashamed his father would be if he let to come with any harm. 

“Do you remember what I told you when we first met?” Daenerys asked as she descended the stairs of the throne. She was a dragon, eyeing it’s prey. “When I told you about how many men have tried to kill me? I learned long ago how to spot them.” She eyed his dagger and sword. “I know Lord Tyrion, so I know he will do anything to save his pathetic life, regardless of how that affects others. I only have one question for you Lord Snow; would you have done it, had my guard not been here?” She was nearly eye level, save but a healthy gap betwixt them should he try to pull his weapons. 

A low rumble shook the floor and scorched foundations, and from behind the throne Drogon slinked over the rubble to sidle up behind his mother. The dragon looked at him curiously, as if trying to judge whether or not once again the man in front of him was friend or foe. If he had to die, so be it. 

“Please. If you are going to execute me, show mercy for my sisters and Tyrion, your grace. That’s how you need to build your kingdom. With mercy.” He pleaded, desperate. It was the wrong thing to say. Daenerys’ mask fell hard, and for a moment Jon thought she was like to weep. It lasted only a moment, and was gone as quickly as it had came. 

“You didn’t answer the question...” She said softly. The Queen then switched to the foreign tongue of Old Valyria and brushed past him with half her guard, skirts swirling. The other half and Grey Worm grabbed him roughly. 

“Wait- Dany wait!”  _ Old Gods save me, what have I done. _ He resisted against the arms that held him to no avail. Back by the throne Drogon reared up, fire building in the back of his throat. Was she mad enough to burn her loyal men as well, along with himself? The Dany Jon knew would never, but he didn’t know the woman that had stood before him seconds ago. 

“Dracarys!” Jon braced himself with a wince, but the blast never came. Heat did wash over him though, and when he looked up Drogon was bathing the throne in flame.  _ What… _ Melting iron is the last thing he sees before a blow to the back of his head throws him into a world of darkness. 

  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~

When Jon comes to, he’s abed and his head is throbbing. Curious fingers stumbled to the lump where he had taken a hit, making more pain lance through his body. As soon as his eyesight cleared he’s surprised to find himself in a stateroom rather than chained in the dungeons. A room befit for a visiting Lord, perhaps, or a foreign envoy. The bed is softer than he’s used to, and the tables and chairs are all eloquently carved with stags and lions. On the nearest one, a flagon of wine and trays of cheese and fruit remain untouched. Looking above where he had lain, the Targaryen sigil is writ in the ceiling.  _ You’re no dragon.  _ It seemed to mock. 

He rose with a groan and half walked, half fell into the table near the bedside. He drank two goblets down quickly, hoping the wine would ease his headache. Jon’s stomach rumbled in protest as he ignored the food, but he can’t find his appetite after all that he’d seen. The city in flames. Women, men, and children burned to ash. The Iron Throne melting. That’s what puzzled him the most- wasn’t that what she wanted? What she massacred the capitol for?  _ They had surrendered, she burned them all, and then reduced the throne to a puddle.  _ It didn’t make sense. Sighing, Jon looked into the hearth where a fire was crackling. The flames offered no answers. 

  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*

Jon woke with a jolt when he heard the pattering of feet and the scrapes of plates being dragged along a table. Instinctively, he reached for Longclaw, and instead only grabbed thin air. Night must have fallen, for the room was dark, save for the soft light of tallow candles. Jon jumped from the chair and turned to find a small dothraki woman clearing the plates and flagon from the table, replacing them with fresh heaps of food and drink. His sudden appearance startles her, and she drops his empty cup. From the shadows one of the Unsullied emerged, the point of his spear aimed for Jon’s chest. Immediately, Jon raises his hands in surrender.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” The woman only blinked up at him and hurried off with her guard in tow. Jon sighed, and ran a hand through his hair before inspecting what the maid had left him. A hearty fare for supper- mushrooms and potatoes in a thick gravy, and steaming slices of what he hoped wasn’t horse seasoned with foreign spices that tickled his nose. He was pleasantly surprised to find ale in his flagon rather than wine, and recognized it as a northern brew. This time he was not able to resist the nagging pang of hunger, and cleared all three plates and emptied the flagon. 

Over full, and a little drunk, Jon stumbled to the canopy bed, collapsed upon the silken sheets and fell into another dreamless sleep. 

  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Being held captive became a pattern. Meals were brought thrice a day, and baths every few. Jon finds a bookshelf on the third day, and busied himself with the tomes that graced it’s shelves. He counts the days that have passed by folding a corner of a page of a book titled  _ Fire and Blood.  _ 70 pages are folded when the Dothraki come to escort him out of his room. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
  


The journey to the dungeon is long. Jon walked blindfolded through a series of twists and turns, the Dothraki guards taking care to not let him fall when they begin the descent down a series of narrow staircases. The air was filled with the scent of rot and death. These were the infamous black cells, Jon knew. 

Before he could put much thought into why the Queen had waited so long to place him there he was slammed against a damp wall. Jon barked out a surprised shout and fell to his arse. One wrist was shackled to the wall and the cloth that covered his eyes was removed. Not that it mattered much- the cell was dark as a moonless night. 

Daenerys did not make him wait long. A torch lit her way as she entered the cell, and it reminded Jon of a lifetime ago when they viewed the children’s markings in the dragonglass cave together. The memory made his heart twinge.  _ How did it come to all of this? _ The harsh Dothraki tongue drew him out of his reverie as the heavy cell door closed behind the Queen with a thud. She set the torch in a sconce by where he sat, helpless. Jon looked up at her, not quite knowing what to expect. She was radiant in what looked to be a new black and red dress, hair as always bound in a crown of intricate braids. Dany stared at him for a long moment before speaking. 

“I was not planning on explaining my actions to you, but last night I had a dream. You remember what I’ve told you about my dreams, yes?” Jon nodded. 

“I had a dream the night before I sacked King’s Landing too. A promise, if you will, of something I’ve wanted far more than an uncomfortable throne. What Tyrion did threatened that promise.” She paused. “Did you know that he set Ser Jaime free? He manipulated your own advisor to smuggle his brother into the city so he could rescue poor Cersei Lannister.” Dany let out a bitter laugh. Jon’s heart threatened to stop, and he desperately wanted to ask whether Davos was still alive. He forced himself to stay quiet lest she take out his insolence on the old knight. Dany must have seen his anguish, as she rolled her eyes before continuing. 

“Don’t worry about Ser Davos. Not many men can see through Tyrion's wiles. He has been of great service to me on my small council.” Jon could only blink in shock. “Even though I learned of my Hand’s treason, there was not much I could do about it in the middle of the night before battle. Are you learned in the Blackfyre Rebellions?” He wasn’t, not really, and shook his head. 

“Daemon Blackfyre’s heirs plagued this country for years and years. Varys was useful for one thing; I knew Cersei was with child. If they were to escape and that child was to come into the world, my reign would never be secure. The city surrendered, but the Mad Queen did not. So, I made a decision, and I would so again without hesitation. My men found what was left of their bodies at the Mud Gate. Had I not trusted my own instincts, they would have escaped. Missandei’s, Viserion, and Rhaegal’s deaths would have been for naught. I told you once sometimes power is terrible.” 

She stalked towards him, then, and a feeling of absolute dread washed over him. Daenerys stopped just shy of his reach and held out her hand to his free one. 

“I will not be keeping you in chains,” she assured him. “This is only for my safety. Surely you understand.” With nothing to lose, Jon offered his hand back to her outstretched one. She grasped it and stepped ever so forward, directing his palm to her abdomen. The darkness of the dungeons had cloaked her swell, and Jon gasped when he made contact with the curve of her belly. Time stood still. He was suddenly thankful for the shackle that held him upright.  _ Itcannot-Ididnot-I-I-I-  _ His tongue was too thick to comment, his jaw slack in awe. Beneath his hand something pushed back against it, and tears picked his eyes. Jon looked to Daenerys where the ghost of a smile played along her lips. 

“That is your son, Jon Snow.”


End file.
